


After These Things, I Saw

by reading_is_in



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Demons, Drama, Gen, Post-Canon, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_is_in/pseuds/reading_is_in
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the last battle, a few damaged survivors exist in limbo. Then an unexpected messenger<br/>offers a last chance at a higher purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU because it has now been rather thoroughly jossed. This fic is complete at my LJ, currently working on the sequel. Will add other chappies asap: meantime, comments would be loved.
> 
> All recognized characters belong to Eric Kripke/CW. Written for love not money.

Thursday

This is supposed to be my Thoughts. Mr. Singer is writing a book of our lives now, of everyone who live here .  
Not everyone is helping. Dean's brother can't write, I think, the Little Kids obviously can't write – Dean can write, but he won't put anything because he says there's no point. There is a point though, which is posterity.  
Mr. Singer says lots of the most important books were written like times like these. Apparently we live in bad times – I wouldn't really know, not having anything to compare it with. I don't know what I'm supposed to say, really.  
My Thoughts are that this world is hard, that Mr. Singer's house is big and old and hard and the yard outside is hard stone with the hard skeletons of cars. That the bowls we eat of are hard metal and my bed is hard, that people have hard eyes, that knives are hard and quite a lot of the food we eat is hard, bones are hard, skin is hard, the sky is hard and grey. The world is also dirty. I know this because we were cleaner once: maybe once a week, Dean used to go to the central square and come back with two buckets of hot water. We had some soap, in little white cakes that flaked when you rubbed it on your skin. Sometimes Mr. Singer went too, and we had four buckets. That wasn't the best because then the Little Kids hid and it was just me and Dean's brother who doesn't talk and doesn't look in your face. But that hot water took the dirt right out of your skin, like the deeper bits that went in the patterns on the bottom of your feet and around your fingernails. We don't get hot water anymore and I know I am dirtier. It's a bitch.  
I figure it's worse for the older ones, who actually fought. They supposedly won the war. There are no demons here. There are other things – outside the salt lines which always, always ring the house – and those things used to make me scream and scream until I passed out or pissed myself, but I was a baby, then, and now I don't scream anymore. I don't cry about my mom anymore. Other people have lost more. Ain't nobody hasn't lost somebody, Mr. Singer says.  
But we did win the war.  
I did not fight on account of being a kid, but in the year since the war ended I have killed one black dog and two spirits. Spirits are everywhere outside. Some come up from hell, some just never left. Too many died wrong, says Mr. Singer. I might also have killed one human. Not everything that we hide from is supernatural evil. Some people just couldn't survive the war, but didn't get killed either.  
Anyway I have two guns which Dean gave me and they are both under my pillow. In one gun are three silver bullets, and the other gun is just regular. Dean showed me how to fire them and what to use with what. He says that if the shit goes down then I have to protect the Little Kids. He is kind. He is kind to me and kind to keep his crazy brother around. If I had a little brother or sister I would take care of them no matter what happened.  
Mr. Singer is also nice I guess, but he's kind of snappy and old. He's pretty sick in his lungs and doesn't go out much now. Mostly he reads his books mumbling to himself, sitting close to the fire we keep in the old petrol drum because light's better than the windows. I cannot read them – they are in other languages. At first I was a little scared of him, but I didn't have any place else to go and I was hungry and I wanted to stay with Dean who found me in the first place. But sometimes I see late at night, when people think I'm asleep, Mr. Singer will stand over one of the Little Kids, and look kind of sad and gentle even with the scars.  
Regarding Dean's brother: he might possibly be some kind of like psychic, but he is definitely crazy. I mean all the older people have something wrong with them: half the time I don't think Dean realizes the war is over, he's so jumpy, so much on guard all the time. A month after I came to live here he almost shot me on accident because I startled him. But his brother is a different level of crazy. At first I was really scared of him, being so tall and thin, with this kind of distant expression like he doesn't exactly see you. Sometimes I don't think he knows we're around, but he always knows his brother. If Dean tells him to do something, he does it, otherwise he pretty much sits there. Sometimes he eats a little bit and he goes to bed at night. He has nightmares: and then he does talk, and scream, and say things about Michael, Michael, and I can't stop him, can't fight him.  
Finally there are the little kids. We call them Emily and Johnny. Dean picked Johnny's name and I picked Emily because I found her. I didn't mean to. If you want to know the truth I thought the kid was dead when I say her there in the yard, and that the thing she was curled around might be some food or something, so I pointed to Dean and he said we were allowed to have a look. The kid turned out to be alive, and the thing turned out to be a colouring book. Nobody ever turned up to claim her, and for a while we just called her Picture Girl. Then Dean said I could give her a name, and I knew we could keep her, but now he says absolutely no more .  
I am going to stop writing for today because it is dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday

I have not written for a few days because a lot has happened.  
It all started Friday night – we still know days because Mr. Singer makes marks on the wall. He told me once in secret that they weren't actually the real days because he did not know when he started, but he said not to tell Dean that.  
On Friday night somebody knocked the door.  
Dean got the big gun and he went to the door. Mr. Singer stayed at his desk but he cocked his rifle. Dean's brother was in the back of the house with the Little Kids, and they told me to go upstairs. I went upstairs but I stayed on the landing and watched through the banisters so I could see the front door.  
Dean undid the locks and slid the chain back, aiming the gun through the gap. He said started to say  
"What d'you-"  
But then he stopped talking.  
Mr. Singer said, "Dean?" and he wheeled the chair back, and moved it to where he could see the door, still holding the rifle.  
Dean said, "Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't fire this gun," but Mr. Singer didn't say, Don't you cuss in my house, boy.  
"There is still hope," said the other person, "They have not left."  
Dean went to slam the door.  
Mr. Singer said, "You hold it there, boy," in the voice that made me a little afraid of him at first.  
"I don't want to hear this," Dean said, but he didn't close the door either.  
"Well too bad princess, because this is my house. Now let the man inside."  
No-one talked. My breath felt suddenly real loud. Dean and Mr. Singer looked hard at each other and even with Mr. Singer being in the chair and all, it suddenly seemed he was taller. It was dark, and the hall candles didn't show anyone's faces proper, but I could hear how angry they both were, and I was scared to know why.  
Dean pulled the chain back hard and fast. I heard it clatter. Then the man came into the hallway and I tried to see him. He was small and seemed pretty old – not old like Mr. Singer but older than Dean. He wore a long brown coat wrapped tight about himself. It had some stains on it. His face was kind of beat up like he'd been in a fight. His eyes were real bright blue.  
"You'd better have a damn good explanation Cas," said Dean.  
"Let the man sit down," said Mr. Singer.  
"Oh right I forgot," said Dean, all sarcastic, "Just one of us now, huh? No special powers to play with? So how does it feel to live like one of us mud monkeys?"  
"Now you listen here Winchester," said Mr. Singer, "You may think you have a right to be angry but you do NOT know the whole story. Castiel says he's got something to tell us, and at this point I'm more than willing to take whatever hope anybody's got to offer. Besides, the man is hurt, and I ain't gonna let him stand here and bleed all over my hallway." When he said that I supposed the stains must be bloodstains. I couldn't see in the light. "Castiel, you go sit down in there. Dean, go get the kit, and when you've got it you will either act civil or get the hell out until you're ready to talk with the grown-ups."  
After Mr. Singer finished that, he coughed a couple of times. It took him a minute to catch his breath. Dean looked angry but then sad. He went to the kitchen to get the first aid kit, and I had to lean back against the wall and hide in the shadows a minute. I heard the noise as Dean opened the cupboard and closed it again without slamming. I heard Mr. Singer say something from inside the living room. I waited until Dean passed me again and went in the room with them. He walked fas and didn't look back. Then I got up real quiet and went to the living room door, put my eye right against the keyhole.  
The man they were calling Castiel was siting on the edge of the couch. He was looking into the distance, but not in the same way that Dean's brother does: Castiel looked as though he was thinking of something outside his own mind. He had taken his coat and shirt off and now I could see that his cuts were pretty bad, some bruises too, looked like somebody kicked him about and maybe took a knife to him. He didn't act much like he hurt though, and Dean was bent over him cleaning one of the cuts like he wanted to make him.  
"What happened?" Mr. Singer asked.  
"Where is Sam?" said Castiel.  
"You leave him outta this," Dean said. He held up one of the needles and ran a thread through it. "Whatever you got to say you can say it to Bobby and me."  
Castiel moved so fast I didn't see his hand until it clamped on Dean's wrist, stopping the needle mid-air. "No. He needs to hear this."  
For a minute nobody said anything. Then Mr. Singer said,  
"You let Dean finish stitching that first Cas. You may be programmed not to show pain or some other crazy thing, but you've lost enough blood to pass out about twice over, and I ain't got no spare supplies." Castiel looked at Mr. Singer for a moment. Then he nodded once. He didn't even flinch when Dean started threading the needle in and out, and I felt a little sick watching. When he was done even Dean looked kind of freaked out:  
"Christ," he said. "Don't tear those. How the fuck did you walk here?"  
"Where is your brother?"  
I wondered what they could want with him. I felt a little bad. Seemed best for everyone to just leave the poor guy alone.  
"Unavailable," said Dean.  
"Listen Castiel," said Mr. Singer. "Sam isn't, um, since the battle, he hasn't been....you know he resisted Lucifer."  
"It is said."  
"Well, he did – just barely. It was pretty damn cataclysmic."  
"Which you would know if you'd bothered to turn up or anything," Dean said.  
"I was otherwise occupied."  
"Yeah. We kind of got that."  
"Any case," Mr. Singer said, "Seems keepin the devil outta your system ain't exactly a walk in the park. Sam hasn't been the same."  
"He broke him," Dean said and he didn't sound angry. He didn't sound anything. "He doesn't talk, only eats if I tell him to, barely sleeps. He's not even in there, Cas. What's the point in upsetting him?"  
"There is salvation for everyone," Castiel said. "Do not deny him this chance."  
"Don't even fucking-"  
"Dean!" Mr. Singer said, "Just shut your mouth for a minute. Bringing Sam here can't hurt him, can it? Worst case, he ain't aware of it. And it might help. Who knows?"  
Dean stood up and shook his head for a second. "Bobby....we been through this. I'm done with this. All of it. I don't want to know anymore, I don't want to listen to this-"  
"And that gives you the right to decide for your brother?"  
All of them looked at each other. Then Dean turned around, starting walking towards the door. I moved back fast but I wasn't fast enough, and I fell on my ass when he pushed the door open hard. He looked down at me and blinked once or twice, like he forgot that I lived here. I was scared of his eyes then.  
"Joe. You snooping around here?"  
"Uh..."  
"Well, what the hell. When I was your age I was tapping phone lines already. Some of us gotta learn things early." He jerked his chin sideways to show that I should get in the room. Mr. Singer raised his eyebrows at me but he didn't say nothing.  
"Who are you?"  
I said: "I'm Joseph."  
The man looked at me with his weird eyes. Then he nodded slowly. "He shall add."  
Dean came back in with his brother behind him. His brother looked the same as always. But then his eyes went to Castiel and he changed. Looked at him, like he hardly looks at anyone or anything. He said,  
"They came back."


	3. Chapter 3

"They came back," Dean's brother said it again.  
"Sam?" Dean said.  
"We were never gone." Castiel's voice was low and made me think of rough paper scrumpled into a ball. "Not all of us."  
"Who's we?"said Mr. Singer: "The angels? I thought they cut you off?"  
"Everything is connected," said Dean's brother.  
"Here Sam," Dean sounded nervous. "Why don't you sit down?"  
"They stripped me of my wings," said Castiel, "and the core of my powers. I cannot communicate with them. But they cannot sever me from them utterly, for we are one substance. Only my Father can do that, as he did with Lucifer. Sam perceives these things."  
"Jesus," Dean muttered, putting his face in his hands.  
"What are you?" I said to Castiel.  
"I am an Angel of the Lord."  
They say that angels were there at the end: that they came late to the fight, but that we couldn't have won the war without them. They say Michael fought Lucifer. But then they also say that Dean Winchester let the archangel possess him, and Dean is a lot of things, as I know, but I'm pretty damn sure that the archangel wouldn't have picked him for that. Overall, they say a lot of things.  
Any case, this Castiel walks, talks, bleeds like a person. I don't see how an angel would let himself get mugged. Freaky eyes, but so what? Plenty like that, these days. So I didn't say anything in answer.  
"Lucifer is in hell," Castiel said, "But he is not chained. He will return, unless we end it. And he is weakened, now. Twelve angels have remained on earth. Zachariah is amongst them. They are readying themselves, and they will endure an odyssey to the underworld. There they will vanquish Lucifer."  
"And what does this all have to do with us?" Dean said.  
"Those in limbo shall be saved," said Dean's brother.  
"Yes," said Castiel and met his eyes. "They will be unchained."  
"Well that's just great for them," said Dean. "What the hell does it have to do with us?"  
"Them?" said Castiel and he kind of frowned, like he was confused. "Why do you speak as though we are otherwise?"  
"Why do you speak like a Vulcan in court?" Dean said, but Mr. Singer said,  
"Cas. Are you saying this – we – are in limbo?"  
"Between hell and life," Castiel said as though he meant yes. "We exist in suspension. But Grace can intercede. This is why it is written, As for you, because of the blood of my covenant with you/I will free your prisoners from the waterless pit."  
"Who, God? Christ? So let him."  
"We are God's hands and eyes."  
"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Dean said. "Cas. I am done with this. Far as I'm concerned, if your god gave a damn, he might've shown up about, I don't know, maybe a year ago. Back when the planet was tearing itself apart. New York exploding, remember that? Or a little island called Britain? If you're still trying to convince me it's all part of some bigger divine plan – then fuck it. Fuck the divine plan. Case you haven't noticed, nobody here has a lot left," - and he kind of glanced round the room - "but what we got, I ain't risking. So maybe you just better leave."  
I thought Mr. Singer was going to argue, on account of he seemed to be disagreeing with everything Dean said so far. But instead he just sort of sighed and said,  
"Hell Cas. I don't know what to say. Personally I don't see I'd be a whole lot of use on some grand demon-hunt these days. I just – these kids here," and he looked at me, "I can look out for them. Give them a home of some sort till whatever has to happen, happens. I don't see we've got anything left to give here, if you understand what I'm saying."  
"We're not going to give. It's to receive. It's to receive salvation."  
Everybody stopped talking and looked at Dean's brother.  
Dean said,  
"Sammy?"  
Because that was about the most his brother said at one time in a year, and I guess made the most sense too. Plus he looked suddenly – there – I mean, in the room, and he looked right at Dean and said,  
"I want to go. We have to go with the angels. Where are they, Cas?"  
"They are gathered where the doors to the underworld open."  
"Oh God. Christ. No." Dean went and bent down to put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Sam, we can't do this. Why us? Why do we have to do this?"  
His brother looked at him kind of vaguely: "You don't have to, you know. But how else am I going to be saved, Dean? I'm Lucifer's vessel. I was designed for him."  
"You weren't-"  
"Yes. Somehow, I was. If there's any way to escape this – this destiny – it has to be killing him. It has to."  
Castiel looked kind of approving. Mr. Singer looked kind of sad. Dean's brother – I guess his name is Sam – didn't look anything in particular. Just alive. More alive than I ever saw before.  
"Nothing's happening," Dean said, kind of desperate-sounding: "We can just – stay here. Nothing has to happen."  
"He'll be back. He'll come for me. I dream about him, sometimes. Like I said, you don't have to come. I think we've kind of established by now that however much you might want to, you can't save me Dean. You're only human."  
Dean stood up and messed his hair with his hand. Then he laughed, short and harsh-sounding.  
"Don't have to come. Yeah, whatever. I guess I was right when I said I knew it would end bloody for us. What the hell," he shrugged. "Looks like you found yourself a crusader Cas. Just consider me along for the ride. Where are these doors at? Some disaster area?"  
"I do not know yet," said Castiel. "They are somewhere north of here. I will have a clearer sense as we get closer."  
Dean laughed again: I didn't like it.

 

In the middle of the night I had to piss. I got up real quiet not to wake the Little Kids, but Johnny still turned over and grabbed at my hand. He was hot and he'd been all snotty earlier, breathing like Mr. Singer almost. I had to pull my fingers out carefully. When I walked by the living room Castiel was still standing there, looking out of the window. He turned to me and said  
"Hello Joseph."  
"Don't you have a place to sleep?" I asked.  
"I do not sleep."  
I guess I looked kind of sceptical, cause he said,  
"You do not believe I am an angel."  
"Uh," I said. "It's just...I never saw an angel before." And I have seen more than a few crazy people.  
"That is understandable. I am not what I once was." Christ, he got sad eyes. "Will you come with us?"  
"I'm not really allowed to go on hunts. Only food gathering and stuff."  
"This is not a hunt, it is a quest."  
"Joe ain't allowed on quests either; he's nine." Dean can move real quiet sometimes. It's from all those years hunting. I jumped when he came into the room. "You're gonna be good and help Bobby out, right Joe? Take care of the Little Kids?"  
"Yeah. Only...how when are you coming back?"  
"We will not be returning."  
I looked at Castiel.  
"This is the end," he said, like that explained everything. "After this, there will be peace."  
I could feel my mouth come open a little.  
"Listen Joe," Dean got down and put his hands on my shoulders, "Cas is kind of right. This isn't a regular hunt. This is – you know, the big guy downstairs. I'm not sure, uh, I'm not sure we're gonna be seeing each other again."  
I got scared. "Let me come," I said, "I'll help."  
"No."  
"Then I'll bust out and follow you. I know how."  
"Then I'll tie you to a chair."  
"I'll untie it."  
"You won't untie these knots."  
"I don't want you to die! I don't want to stay in this house without you!" I sounded like a baby. But it was all I could think to say. I don't know what I think about God and Lucifer and all that. I know demons are real. But Dean can kill demons – he told me about it. I don't want to be left alone in this house because when Mr. Singer dies it'll be just me and the Little Kids and how will I get food for them? How will I get food for me?  
"Joe, you'll be okay," Dean said, and smiled and looked real tired. So then I went back to bed, but in the morning I felt something cold by me and I woke up and Little Johnny was dead. And then I couldn't stop screaming and crying for a while, and Dean said I could come after all cos I wouldn't let go of him then.


	4. Chapter 4

We waited until Sunday to go, even though Castiel and Sam wanted to go right away. Dean said there was no point in starting out if Cas's vessel was just going to collapse. I asked what a vessel was and he said  
"A body – the human body he's using."  
And I realised Dean really thinks that Cas is an angel. I didn't ask any more because I was afraid that Dean is really nuts, and he's like the least-crazy adult.  
We left Emily with Mr. Singer and four of us into the Impala. It was early, the sky still all pale and flat. We don't see a lot of the sun these days. It's always cold and my fingers and nose get all red and sore outside.  
A dog was barking far away and I heard it like up close. The sound when we slammed the car doors seemed to go on forever.  
Dean drove of course, and Castiel sat up front. Which meant that Sam sat next to me in the back. I guess I was kind of curling into the car door, because suddenly he looked at me- looked right at me – and said in a voice too soft for such a big guy,  
"Don't be scared of me, Joe."  
"I ain't scared," I said.  
He kind of smiled with half of his mouth.  
"I didn't say not to be scared."  
"So you got any directions yet?" said Dean to Castiel: "Anything coming in over angel radio?"  
"I would tell you if I had," said Castiel, looking out the windscreen. "We are moving in the right direction."  
I don't remember so much about when I was little. Mostly I don't think about before this year. But it seems to me that once there were a lot more people about. Lot more buildings too. Like we were driving most of the day, and I watched the land, and mostly I just saw empty stuff – broken fences, fields ripped up, bunch of burned stones where I guess a city used to be. Saw a herd of goats, bony thin, standing around bleating and trying to eat the dead scrub between some rocks. We had no sun and no rain.  
All the time, Castiel wouldn't say anything about where to go, except that we were going the right direction. Dean put the stereo on for a bit. Then he turned it off. I wanted to ask Sam questions but I didn't know what to say.  
Night time we stopped at an empty house with the front door still standing. Dean and Castiel told us to stay in the car while they checked it out. I heard a gun fire. A short scream, and a long stream of smoke went up into the dark from the backyard. Then they came back and got us.  
They did the sigils around the house. I was in charge of the chalk lines. We got some blankets from the car and put them on the floor of the living room – the couch was all ripped up and dried blood was on the springs. Dean found some packets of dried noodles in the kitchen but we had to wet them with cold water. We had two tins of soup also. Castiel did not eat. I asked him why and he said,  
"I do not require it."  
"You sure?" Dean said. "I mean you don't have that instant-healing shit anymore..."  
"Everybody has to eat," I told him. He looked at me in that weird way and said,  
"This is not my body."  
Dean went to sit on the front porch and watch for things. He took Sam with him and told me to go to sleep, but I couldn't sleep. It was too dark and not dark enough. I was cold without the Little Kids, and if I thought about that I got a choked feeling like I might start screaming again. So I got up and went to the doorway. Dean and Sam were facing away from me, looking into the night, sitting only the wood steps although there were chairs not broken. Maybe Dean knew I was there, but he didn't turn around. Sam was talking.  
"You're the one who always had faith," he was saying. "You never questioned orders. You just believed."  
"Totally different issue, Sammy. Dad was there."  
"Hardly."  
"Shut up. You know he took care of us. Protected us. And he was the best of us – there was never a hunter could touch him. Even you know that. But you didn't trust him. Didn't trust that he knew what was best-"  
"He was only a human being."  
" –and that's better than a god you can't see, touch of feel?"  
"I can feel Him. Even through the angels. I haven't felt this alive since...."  
"And I'm glad. Fuck Sam, I'm happy you're talking. Happy you're back with us. But I don't want to believe..."  
"But you do believe, don't you? Whatever you say. You live your life according to a higher purpose. To a plan. You always have. This last journey – you're doing it because you have faith in the end of the story."  
"I'm doing it for you!"  
"Yeah whatever. You'd take me, run away and hide if you thought there was another possible ending. Face it Dean. You believe in God. You have faith. You're obedient, however much you whine and bitch about it. You threaten to, but you don't give up. I'm the one who lost the way – when I went with Ruby. I believed I knew best because I was smart and I thought I was in control of my powers. Well, I was wrong. We have to follow God's plan."  
It got real quiet for a moment.  
Then Dean said,  
"What if Cas has lost it?"  
"I don't think he has."  
"What the hell was he doing when-" Dean got up and started pacing around a little. I ducked back because I was pretty sure he didn't know I was there now.  
"Same as us. He was looking for God."  
"Oh for fuck's-"  
"There's no point in being angry with him now."  
I went back inside, and got into my blankets. I didn't know what to think. I felt cold, inside and outside. I suppose I must have gone to sleep, because the next thing I knew it was light and the room was warmer. Sam and Dean were asleep, near me. I looked up and Castiel was standing by the window again, and the sun was actually rising. For a second it looked like the light came from him, instead of from behind, and he looked at my eyes and my chest hurt a little, because I thought that if there were really angels, I didn't want them to be like this, all cut off and bright and lonely.

 

The next day we stopped at an actual diner. I mean, one still doing business. There was a sign outside saying Big Ed's – Business Don't Stop For the Apocalypse! But we were the only customers. I got a cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake. The burger was hot, and eating it made me feel like I smiled all the way down to my stomach. Then I asked the guy at the counter where the bathroom was. He said,  
"Out back," and jerked and his thumb. I looked for a door but he said, "No – out of doors. Shell took the bathroom out back when."  
Dean heard and started to stand up because I am not allowed out of doors on my own. But Sam said,  
"I'll go with him."  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah. I know I haven't been the most use since...."  
"Whatever."  
I let Sam follow me outside and he stayed near the door, which is a kind of corrugated iron, and looked in the other direction while I went behind the dumpster to piss. Whilst I was zipping up, I heard a woman say,  
"Hello Sam."  
I came around and she was standing there. She had dark hair and was pretty. She was smiling sadly. Sam had gone real white and had the blank look on his face again, like before Castiel showed up. But he hadn't stopped talking, because he said,  
"Ruby."  
"In the flesh," she smiled. "So to speak."  
"How did you – why aren't you-..."  
"Downstairs? Enjoying the party? Planning the next move?" she shrugged. "Whatever you think, I'm not exactly Miss Popularity down there. I'm like you, Sam – a bad soldier."  
"You are nothing like me."  
"Sure I am. We're both thinkers. We question. Before we hand over our souls, we want to know its a good deal. We've got minds. At least I thought you had. Which is why I bothered coming all the way here to talk to you one last time. I understand you."  
"Get away from me." He backed up a step.  
"If you like," she shrugged. "I just wanted to ask you why."  
"Why what?"  
"Why you're degrading yourself to go crawling back to a god who would reduce you to the level of an infant through no fault of your own."  
"It was my fault. I should've been stronger. I should've resisted Lucifer earlier. I shouldn't have listened to you."  
"We were doing what, in good faith, we thought was the right thing. We were using our god-given brains. And this bastard, if he exists, lets us be torn to shreds for it. Or takes us out of the equation. Look at Dean, your perfect brother. The selfless one, devoted his poor little life to – what did he used to say – saving people, hunting things. How quaint. How old-fashioned. He died for you – and went to hell. Did he ever tell you about that? Funny thing about us who've been human – who've experienced being these fleshbags – we like to think that we're spiritual creatures. That we can endure any torment if the stakes are high enough. Well, it's bullshit. You've been tortured, right? Table and razors – pretty vanilla stuff. Half an hour of it had you crying for your big brother to save you. Now imagine we change the razors for – icepicks? Fire? Twisted stakes? Now exchange a half hour for forty years. That's the reward of-"  
"STOP IT!" Sam shouted. I'd never heard him shout. "That was not the work of God! That was Lucifer-"  
"Right, and Lucifer was created by this god, with his beautiful, inquiring mind, then punished and tormented because he used his mind, banished from heaven and twisted into what he is today. The enemy of humanity. Can you blame him? You hate Azazel, the demon who cast you out from your perfect childhood and made you what you are. Why shouldn't Lucifer hate god and man, who created him and then cast him out of paradise? This is no god with worshipping. It is an omnipotent sadist. Or else, it is nothing particular, a spirit of some limited creative power who sets up toys and knocks them down again – rather like your Trickster. Frankly I prefer the latter theory. At least our rebellion has hope. But even if there is no hope, if it is omnipotent, wouldn't you rather die on your feet than grow crawling back on your knees-"  
Gunfire. I think I screamed, and then the woman was looking down at the smoking hole in her chest. It was trickling blood, but not pouring like it should've been. She looked up and smiled sadly again.  
"Hello Dean. That was childish."  
"Coated in holy water, bitch."  
"Yes, I can feel it burning me. Another spiteful torment disguised as a weapon of the righteous. I was just leaving, in any case. I overestimated you." She turned to look at Sam again. He was kneeling on the ground with his head down in a puddle of spilled oil and water. I think he might have been crying. "You're both too weak. Maybe your daddy ruined you." Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam and started asking if he was okay. The woman smirked as Sam turned towards Dean, responding. "I am alone," she said. "But at least I am free, and I'm not scared."  
"Stop. Talking," said Dean.  
"Say hi to your crackpot angel for me."  
And she just walked away, still bleeding.


	5. Chapter 5

In the front seat, Castiel started talking more. He would say,  
"West of this trajectory," or even something exact like, "Take a left."  
The land started changing. Up north it half-looked like stuff was starting to grow. Or maybe it hadn't been blasted so much in the first place. There were trees.  
After a while, Castiel said, "It's a forest," and Sam said,  
"There are stones," like they were talking just to each other or maybe saying a rhyme in turns, and eventually Castiel said,  
"We must leave the car now."  
"What? Why the hell?" said Dean.  
"We must approach in the manner that they will receive us. As suppliants."  
"Fucking-A."  
It just looked like the middle of a road to me. Rocks. Fields. Nearby was the broken-down shell of a car. Few parts of a body left in the drivers seat. Claw-marks on the passenger door.  
We got out and Dean stood a moment with his hand on the car's bonnet. He didn't say anything. It was kind of the same way he'd put his hand on my shoulder sometimes. Like after he'd been on a hunt.  
"You still don't have to come," Sam said to Dean. Sam was looking towards the sun. Off the road, a long stretch of trees began, trailing off. I never saw so much green.  
"You still don't have to go," said Dean.  
Castiel turned and started to walk towards the treeline. A long shadow fell in front of him. Dean leaned on the car. Sam stood still for a moment between them, and I got a feeling, like creeping hands all the way down my back. For a second I thought Sam would cry. Then he looked up, looked at the sky where the sun was a low burn behind the clouds. And he went after Castiel.  
Dean went right after him. I started to run. Everybody walked fast, like the forest pulled them on, and I was scared to be left.  
Dean turned and caught my shoulders, "Listen Joe. This is kind of the end of the road for us, buddy. I'm going to give you my cellphone. The first number in the contact list is Bobby's. You just call him. Tell him I said we're in Louisiana – I think just south of the old border. He'll ask you some more questions and send someone out to pick you up. You don't have to go back there if you don't want to. There are hunters left. Somebody'll find a place for you."  
"But – I don't wanna go with anyone else – I wanna go with you!" I didn't know how to make him understand this. Didn't he remember? How he was the one who found me, took me home, gave me food: "You promised!" Like I promised Little Johnny. But he died. It isn't my fault that he died. I'm only a kid and he kept getting sick. Dean is a grown up. I've been good, I've been strong. He said so. I've done what they said. Grown-ups have to keep their promises. "You said you'd take care of me!"  
Dean looked at Sam, who was in kind of getting into the distance now. And then looked back at me, like – anguished.  
"I know but – Sammy's my brother, okay? I can't do everything, Joe! I can't do everything myself!"  
I think my mouth dropped open.  
"I'm sorry," Dean said. "Just stay here, okay. Just get back in the car."  
I got back in the car where it was warm and I didn't feel anything. I shut the door. I watched Castiel, Dean and Sam head towards the treeline, long brown coat and jeans and leather jacket small in the distance. I saw their backs but I could imagine their faces. Right before they disappeared Dean looked back at me, once.  
Dusk came down.

* * *

 

I couldn't wait very long. I think it was less than an hour – maybe minutes only – when I got up and followed them. It was cold at night. I pulled my coat around me and shivers went up and down, and I thought I should hear something howling but there was no sound – just my feet and the crunch of the dirt.  
When I got under the trees it went from dark to blacker dark. I stopped, opened my eyes so wide it hurt, but all I saw was the colours that move in front of my closed eyelids when I press my fingers against them in bed at night. Then after a moment I made out the shapes of leaves. Jagged edges.  
I hadn't been among trees for a long time. I'd kind of forgotten their smell. For a second it made me remember – it made me - remember that once I had been to the woods with my mom when blue flowers grew out of the brown. And a scream came up inside of me. I did not understand. How that could've been real, and now this. But I couldn't. I had to find Dean. And Sam.  
I saw light. Not light from the sun or the moon. White light, faint glowing between the treetrunks. I followed it.  
There was a clearing. In the middle of the clearing stones were standing upright. A tall person was tied, head down, to the biggest stone in the middle. It was Sam.  
There were strange marks on the stones. Some of the same strange marks were cut into Sam's skin. I could see this because they had taken his shirt off. Blood had run down to his pants. I couldn't see anyone else, but I heard Dean, angry and quiet. His voice came from the far side of the clearing where the trees were lit up with that white glow.  
"How the fuck long is this supposed to take?"  
"How can you ask us that?"  
"Oh I don't know – I was dumb enough to think you guys might know what you were doing? This was your goddam idea!"  
"Your brother has consented."  
The third voice was not Castiel, but it made me think of him. Gave me that same weighed-down feeling. I moved, behind the treeline, until I could see the people on the other side of the clearing  
Dean was arguing with an older man. He had mad eyes, too. And a smile like he knew a secret. There was also a woman. Castiel was there, and he was looking towards Sam. Sad and sorry.  
"Dean..." he said slowly, "In this way, Sam can redeem himself."  
"He has nothing to redeem himself for! He resisted Lucifer! Fuck, Cas, how many people could've done that?"  
"Nonetheless," said the woman, "You understand that he is tainted. If he weren't, we would not be able to use him in this way."  
"As bait."  
Then the older man looked towards me. I didn't make any noise or move, he just looked towards where I was standing. And I had to come out from under the trees. I couldn't help myself, and came into the clearing. So did the others.  
The older man looked in my eyes, and I felt torn open. There as light – from him, behind him, over him. I think I fell down on my knees. I was crying.  
I saw his wings. Not white and soft like the angels in stories. Black, huge and horrible. And the man's black eyes flashed and he said to me,  
"I am Zachariah."  
"I told you to stay in the car!" Dean yelled at me. Yeah, I was crying. The angel came forwad and grabbed my arm and I screamed like the light went through me. He pulled my sleeve up.  
"What is this?"  
"I don't know," I sobbed. He was talking about the mark on my arm, which I had since I was a baby.  
"You're a witness," said Dean, staring. "I should've guessed."  
I know what a witness is. It's the one who sees and tells the story. And I remember what Mr. Singer said about writing this down for people who live later. That is why I am writing this down now, even though I am always frightened.  
"What are they doing to Sam?" I asked. "We are drawing Lucifer to us." When Castiel said that I knew he was one of them, not one of us. He had no wings, but he was the same. "Lucifer is drawn to his perfect vessel. He cannot resist it. In hell, he is strongest. Tempting him up here, now whilst his hosts are damaged, increases our chances of standing against him."  
"Like a worm on a hook," spat Dean. "These bastards are throwing him to the wolves."  
"Do not draw false analogies," said the woman. "We have told you that Sam will not be permanently damanged. He is not our enemy, but our ally."  
"Don't worry Dean. Don't be scared Joe," Sam said, and he sounded different. He raised his head and looked at us, but seemed far away. "Everything is going to happen like its supposed to."  
I want to stop writing now. I don't want to tell the next part of the story. But I am a witness. What is the point of me if I do not write it? What happened next is: he came.  
First I felt pain, like my guts were being scrunched up inside me, and if I wasn't already on my knees I would've been after that. I clapped my hands over me eyes and screamed. It went dark, but I could see the darkness. Sam started to struggle against the ropes. He made a low moaning sound, moving his head from side to side like he wanted to get free. I was still screaming, but Dean shouted,  
"Sam!" and made like he would go forwards. Castiel grabbed his arm.  
"Wait!" he shouted. "Just wait!"  
Sam cried, "I can'! Dean, I can't do it again, help me!" – and then he went still and quiet. Then he smiled, slow, and his eyes were black, and he said,  
"Castiel. Zachariah. And Anna – well well. Isn't this just like a family reunion."  
Then Zachariah had a sword. First it wasn't there, and then it was there, huge, shining and brilliant. He raised it to Sam and Dean shouted  
"No!"  
And then I did my part wrong. I did what a witness must never do. But the darkness that you could see was breaking me open. I couldn't let any more of it get in. Had to shut it out before it cracked me. I did what a witness must never do.  
I closed my eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

There ain't nothing quite like a gun going off near your face. I'm sure you know that. Cos my eyes were closed I wasn't expecting it. When they flew open some three things had happened. One was that Zachariah had brought his sword down. Another was that Castiel had rushed into him, making the sword shoot up bright sparks from wherever it connected with his body. The third was that Dean shot Zachariah, but he didn't notice.  
Castiel and Zachariah were fighting. There was light, and a sound like wings. Then they weren't there anymore. Anna screamed,  
"What are you doing?" but it was too late by then. Meanwhile Sam said,  
"Hello Dean," in the voice that wasn't his own. "I wouldn't quite say we've missed you. More that your place is reserved downstairs."  
"Alistair," said Dean like he was choking. He dropped the gun. I ran forward and picked up the gun. I didn't know why. I still don't.  
"I like you Winchesters," Sam said. "You make my job go so smoothly. Sammy here didn't even put up a fight. It's like he wants me inside him. Easy little bitch, isn't he?"  
"Let him go," said Dean, sounding like Mr. Singer on his worst day: "You can have me. I don't care."  
"Oh I will," Sam said, "He's destined for big things, you know. I'm just – warming the house up, in a manner of speaking. You, on the other hand...you I am going to turn inside out and show your beating heart to you before I kill you."  
Dean fell forwards onto his hands and knees. He made a sound. Blood fell onto the ground in a sticky red string. It came from his mouth. I was crying.  
"And who's this?" Sam looked at me. It wasn't him. I was still crying but I brought the gun up anyway, because that's what I'm supposed to.  
"Oh fuck no," Dean said. "For fuck's sake. He's a child."  
"Um, hello, demon here?" Sam said. And then I felt white hotness. I looked down. A thin scream came out of my mouth. The front of my shirt was bleeding. And then my chest was on fire, a straight line down. And then Sam said,  
"Fuck." Snarled it, like at himself. And his eyes flickered.  
"Yes," said Dean, and pushed himself back up into a crouch. "Come on Sammy."  
I felt a warmness and knew I had pissed myself. That made me cry harder. I was also sitting in the dirt. The pain came again. I was looking at the sky but I heard Dean scream and I thought about hearts ripped out beating. I heard my own beating, louder, and darkness, and then –  
\- it stopped.  
Everything stopped. I could hear someone breathing raggedly. There was a tearing sound. A thud. I raised my head. Sam and Dean were both on the ground near the stone. The ropes were broken. They were holding onto each other. Just for a second. Then came footsteps in the wet leaves, shadow. Dean put his hand on my chest.  
"Ohh, shit, hey buddy, you okay? I'm just gonna take a look at this, Joe, how do you feel?"  
"I don't know." It came out like a baby's voice. I don't know how I felt. My chest hurt but it was far away. I wanted to hide in the dark.  
"Thank God," Dean breathed out. "It's okay Joe. You're okay. We can get this fixed up, no problem." Someone pressed something on me and then Dean picked me up. He can still do that. I didn't want to look at Sam, or anything. So I closed my eyes again.

When I opened them, I was on a couch covered with Dean's jacket. I was wearing a pair of kids' jeans about two sizes too big for me. I should've been embarrassed. I knew time had passed and I'd been in the car and then somewhere else. I must have fallen asleep because someone had cleaned me up and put white gauze over the cut down my chest. I was thirsty. There was a glass of water on the side table and I drank some.  
It was a house – another broken down and empty house. I was in a living room. The kitchen door was open a crack and from behind it came voices. Quiet, like not to wake me up. Dean, Castiel – and Sam. I was scared of him – but I wasn't. I knew it wasn't Sam who had done those things. It was something else, something I felt in the clearing from the first second it was there and when it went away it was like morning.  
I got up and felt dizzy. I held onto the table until it stopped. I didn't want anyone to see me yet. First, I wanted to hear them. I got up close to the door, with my back to the wall so that I could see in sideways.  
Castiel was sitting at a round table. Dean was standing over him like Castiel. Sam was sitting on the floor with his back to a cupboard and his knees tucked up to his chest. He looked blank like when I first met him.  
"Well, Halleluiah," said Dean. he didn't sound angry. He sounded like something was funny but also he was unbelievably sad. "It's a goddam miracle. Castiel doubts the morality of a heaven that would trick him, trick us, sacrifice the last fragments of happiness that we've got left-"  
"It was not a trick," Castiel said. "They truly believed they were drawing up Lucifer. It was only when Alistair appeared that Anna followed Zachariah and I."  
"Cause saving Zachariah's more important than ganking Alistair – or, I don't know, helping us..."  
"Not to me."  
"No. And thanks." Dean pulled a chair out and sat down. "So. I guess this means you're on our side now? Crossing over to Team Human?"  
"I do not know," Castiel said. "I am – confused. But I know I am not – not any longer on Zachariah's 'side'. Or Anna's. I thought that my path to God was as theirs, but I was wrong. They should not have been ready to sacrifice you or Sam, after all you have done for us."  
"Damn right," Dean said. Then he looked at Sam. "What am I gonna do with him, Cas?" he asked. "He's back to like before."  
"I do not know," Castiel said again, and looked almost as sad as Dean. "But I will – help you, if I can. Both of you. I cannot – promise success anymore. I think I have lost – that certainty."  
"Certainty." Dean made a half-smile. "Truth is, Cas, I haven't been certain of anything since my dad died."  
"In that perhaps, we are alike." Castiel did the piercing look for a moment. I'm glad it wasn't at me.  
"So no more ideas about serving heaven, or fighting wars," Dean said. "If this is what god wants – it's not worth it. Nothing anyone can offer – no paradise, no heaven – is worth watching my little brother and an innocent kid get ripped up in front of my eyes."  
"God does not enjoy his children's suffering," Castiel said firmly.  
"How do you know that?"  
"Faith."  
I guess I moved because Dean said,  
"Joe - hey kid, how you feeling?"  
"Okay," I said. "Was that um, was that..."  
"That," said Castiel, "Was a demon."  
"Oh," I said. "And you are..."  
"An angel," he replied. But he didn't look very sure. I looked at Sam, who hadn't moved or said anything the whole time. And I wasn't frightened. I felt – sad, and old, and like I didn't have any parents. And like I didn't know what would happen. But I could see locks on the doors and there would be sigils outside, and if Sam had come back once he might again.  
We found some kernels in the cupboard and made popcorn on the stove that still worked. It was good.

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, but I'm sort of working on a sequel. Meantime, I'd love to hear what you thought! :)


End file.
